Upside Down and Inside Out

"May I have a word with Mrs Hermione Potter, please?"

Hermione stared out at the tall, blonde man standing outside her door. He was drenched from head to toe from the raging storm that had been dropping its rain onto the Earth all day. Water droplets were falling off of him and hitting the hardwood floor just inside the door. "This is she," Hermione said finally. "Would you like to step inside, out of the rain, for a moment?"

"That would be very nice." The man took a step inside the small cottage and allowed Hermione to shut the door behind him. He took his hat off and stared down at Hermione with sad blue eyes. "I have some important news, Mrs Potter."

Hermione smiled warmly. Instantly, her polite-to-guests-in-her-home attitude took over. "Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr...?"

"Vaughn," he supplied, "Tristan Vaughn, Auror." Mr Vaughn took his wand out of his pocket and projected his Auror badge in the air for her to see. "And no thanks for the coffee, Mrs Potter."

"All right, Mr Vaughn. Now, what was it that you needed to discuss?"

Once again, Mr Vaughn looked down at Hermione with a sad expression on his face. "It's about your husband, Harry."

A feeling of dread settled itself in the pit of Hermione's stomach. "Yes, what about him?" Hermione brushed loose strands of her curly brown hair out of her face.

"I really feel awful about having to break this to you instead of the head of Harry's Auror department," Mr Vaughn continued, still looking sad, "but someone had to and I was the only one free tonight."

Hermione's stomach seemed to contort itself into a pretzel as her mind began to ponder what the man - Mr Vaughn - could be at her house at ten o'clock of the night to tell her about Harry, who was supposed to be on an Auror assignment, to break up a crucial meeting that Death Eaters were holding. "Yes?" she prodded.

"Mrs Potter. Hermione," Mr Vaughn continued, a hint of reluctancy evident in his voice. "This is always very hard to say, but...Harry is missing. The Death Eaters at the meeting reacted violently when they realized their party was being crashed, so to speak, and many of our prized Aurors are missing as well, all presumed dead."

Hermione was at a loss for words. Nothing seemed to want to come out of her mouth, so she stood there stupidly, opening and closing her mouth. She was sure she looked like a fish, but she didn't dwell on that thought for long. Mr Vaughn's words were the only thing her mind would focus on. *Harry is missing. Many of our prized Aurors are missing. Presumed dead.* She had just saw Harry that morning...they'd had a terrible fight over something not of importance.

"That's impossible," Hermione stated stubbornly. She was reminded of her Hogwarts days as her voice took on the bossy tone that she didn't use very often anymore.

"It's quite possible, Mrs Potter." Mr Vaughn nodded his head for effect. "I'm terribly sorry, and I was informed to tell you that all will be done to find your husband. It's not very promising, however, and I must tell you to not get your hopes up."

Hermione pointed an accusing finger at the man. "You," she said simply, "are lying. Harry would never leave Brianna and me alone. Never."

"I've very sorry, Mrs Potter." Mr Vaughn's voice had taken on a soft gentleness that reminded Hermione of how she often spoke to her four-year-old daughter, Brianna.

Hermione felt her anger level rising and she was sure Mr Vaughn could practically feel the heat radiating off of her. "Get. Out. Of. My. House!" she exclaimed loudly. "Get out, get out, get out!" She didn't care that she sounded much like a seven-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. She wanted this man out of her house NOW.

"All right, I'm going. But if you wish to speak to Mr Bryant, the head of Harry's Auror department, you can just Apparate anytime."

"Get out!" Hermione's anger mixed with her stubbornness told her that she didn't want him at her house anymore. She wanted Mr Tristan Vaughn out of her home and away from herself and her daughter that instant. Without thinking twice, Hermione jerked the door open and practically pushed the blonde man out. "I hope you have a wonderful time telling other wives that their husbands are missing and presumed dead, because you obviously got a kick out of telling me that!" Without thinking twice, Hermione slammed the door in Mr Vaughn's face and locked it.

She stomped into the kitchen and promptly collapsed in a chair, the reality of what he had just told her finally sinking in.

Harry was missing, if not dead.

{}

Twenty-five year old Hermione sat at the small round table in her kitchen, sipping out of steaming mug of heavily creamed-milked-and-sugared coffee. The horoscope section of the Daily Prophet was open in front of her, and she was scanning the black-and-white small print page for her horoscope. Who would've ever thought that *I* would be reduced to reading my horoscope out of the Prophet and that it would be the highlight of my day? she mused. "No-one," she stated aloud. Sighing, Hermione continued skimming the page until she saw the daily horoscope for Virgo.

"'You'd stop feeling so superior if only you could find your equal'," Hermione read. "'Virgo's own act is so together that he or she wants to provide others with the same service. You're happy as long as your help is welcome. Practical and productive, Virgos aim to make the most of their talents.'" Hermione rolled her brown eyes and snorted. "Together, my foot. Maybe a few years ago, but definitely not now..." She sighed. At that moment, she was positively sure that horoscopes were a load of - nicely put - crap.

"Good morning, Mummy," a small voice said from the doorway to the kitchen.

Hermione swivelled around to look at her five-year-old daughter, Brianna. "Morning, sweetie," she said with a smile. "Do you want some cereal?"

Brianna nodded and walked over to the table to sit at her place. Hermione sighed as she stood up and got a bowl from the dish drainer in the sink and then pulled a box of Fruit Loops from the cabinet over the sink. She retrieved the carton of milk from the refrigerator and proceeded to fix her daughter a bowl of cereal. When she set it in front of the black-haired girl, Brianna began to eat hungrily, making Hermione laugh.

"Ah, you've Harry's appetite," Hermione said thoughtfully as she watched her daughter eat.

Brianna looked up at Hermione with dark brown, innocent eyes. "Where's Daddy?" she slurred through her cereal, milk dribbling down her chin and onto the pink nightshirt she was wearing.

It had been almost a year since Tristan Vaughn had walked into Hermione's home to announce that Harry was missing and presumed dead. She'd been so devastated that she had pushed him out and slammed the door in his face, and since she felt terrible afterwards she rung him in order to invite him over for coffee. After that, Hermione began to see him more often, but she knew they would never be more than friends. How could a widow date the man that announced her husband's death, anyway? It didn't seem right, and didn't feel right to Hermione.

"I told you," Hermione said, reaching over and smoothing out Brianna's curly hair. "Daddy's on an important business trip and will be gone for awhile."

"Oh, I forgot," Brianna accepted easily.

Hermione sighed. That excuse would only work for a couple more years. Then what? As Brianna became older, she wouldn't believe Hermione's story and would most likely want to know where her father really was. I suppose I should've told her that her daddy was gone in the first place.

"Am I going over to Uncle Ron's today?"

"Yes, I have to work," Hermione replied. "But we can stay home and play together tomorrow," she added after seeing the sad look that Brianna had wore for a split second.

Brianna's whole face began to glow at that announcement, and her brown eyes glistened with happiness. "Yay! But do we have to stay home, Mummy? Can't we go to the park? Or to the Quidditch shop?"

"We can do anything you want, sugar," Hermione informed her. She inwardly chuckled as she realized Brianna would probably become a huge Quidditch buff like her "uncle" Ron and her father.

"Can we get that kid-sized Firebolt at the Quidditch shop that we saw on the Wizard channel?" Hope was clearly evident in Brianna's large eyes, and Hermione didn't want to crush her.

"We'll see."

Brianna pouted for a minute. Hermione sighed as she realized not only was her "Daddy's on an important business trip" excuse running ragged, her "we'll see" everytime Brianna wanted something Hermione couldn't afford was running a little thin as well. That thought drifted out of Hermione's head as Brianna began to slurp the milk out of her bowl, indicating that she wanted more cereal.

After Hermione poured the last little bit of Fruit Loops out of the box, she sighed and added "1 box Fruit Loops" to the grocery list held on the refrigerator by the Snoopy magnet Ron Weasley had helped Brianna make just the week before. Glancing at the clock hanging on the wall behind her, Hermione stood up. "You finish eating breakfast, sweetie, and then go wait for me in your room so I can help get you ready. Mummy's going to be late for work if she doesn't hurry."

Hermione didn't exactly like her job at Flourish and Blotts. When she was in her seventh year at Hogwarts, Hermione thought working at a book shop would be wonderful and exciting, but now that she actually worked there, she could tell she was wrong. The only busy time at the shop in Diagon Alley was when Hogwarts students were shopping for their school books in August. That was usually the only business the book shop received; that, Gilderoy Lockhart book signings, and the occasional teenager that had mistook it as a clothing or music shop. At least she earned a salary, and a salary was money that went toward feeding and clothing Brianna and herself.

Hermione hurried to get dressed in her usual loosely-fitting black robes. She decided to apply a bit of makeup, which was rather uncharacteristic for the working single mother, and spritzed a little vanilla body spray behind her ear. After finishing, she rubbed a strawberry body lotion on her hands and arms, buckled her watch on her left wrist, slipped a simple gold band on her finger, brushed her hair out quickly, and slipped her stockinged feet into a pair of simple, practical black flats. She glanced at herself in the mirror before grabbing her pocketbook, which held her wand and an assorted amount of other items, and walking out her bedroom door and down the hall to Brianna's room.

She set her pocketbook outside Brianna's room and opened the door. Her eyes were met with the rather prissy shade of pink that covered the walls in the young girl's small room. Brianna was sitting carefully on her unmade bed, concentrating on putting a pair of hot pink socks on her feet correctly.

"Very good, honey!" Hermione exclaimed with delight. "You're getting better and better at this dressing yourself thing everyday."

Brianna wrinkled her nose as she finally pulled one of her socks over her heels. It certainly hadn't been Brianna's idea to finally get dressed by herself, that was for sure. Hermione had decided one day that it was about time her daughter learn to get herself ready, because, "I won't be here to help you forever. I'm certainly not following you to Hogwarts just so I can dress you in the mornings."

"I still don't see why you can't help me," Brianna said huffily as she stuck her feet into her Velcro sneakers.

"Because you're a big girl." It was as simple as that, and Hermione tossed Brianna her lightweight pink jacket.

"I'm obviously not a big enough girl to go to school," Brianna said as she followed Hermione out of her bedroom and downstairs to the living room. "All my friends are starting kindergarten in September, but I'm stuck at home with Uncle Ron."

"I never said you couldn't go to Muggle school, dear," Hermione pointed out as she tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flaming fireplace. "If you really want to, I can enroll you."

Brianna stepped into the green flames. "I don't exactly want to, I just don't want to be the only one of my friends not going," she pouted.

Hermione sighed. Brianna could be so difficult sometimes. "Say where you're going, Bri."

"The Burrow," Brianna called in a small voice.

{}

"Uncle Ron!"

Hermione watched as her daughter practically flung herself into the arms of her best friend, Ron Weasley. She sighed as she observed the interaction going on between Ron and Brianna; they were so cute together, what with Brianna's eyes lighting up as Ron gave her a noogie, messing up her hair even worse than it had been to begin with.

"Ron, you had better not let her into the chocolate ice cream again," Hermione warned, remembering how she had walked into the Burrow the previous week to find her daughter covered in sticky chocolate ice cream. "I mean it, Ronald."

"Yes, ma'am," Ron said as he straightened up to his full six feet to salute her. "Anything you say, ma'am!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Cut the crap, Ronnie dearest," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. "As always, you know where to reach me had anything happen."

"Yes, Princess Hermione." Ron bowed a deep bow, only resulting in Hermione kicking him and causing Brianna to laugh.

"See what Uncle Ron gets for being rude?" she asked Brianna. "Well, remember what I said, Ron." Hermione took her wand out of her pocketbook.

"All right, Hermione. I promise not to corrupt your daughter too much." Ron grinned. "See, I said too much. I didn't say not at all."

Hermione shook her head. "You're terribly impossible, just to inform you," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows. "Give Molly and Arthur my love. Bye, Ron. Bye, Bri, I love you." And she disappeared with a pop!.

{}

"Hermione, you're two minutes late," Mr Graham barked the second Hermione walked through the door of Flourish and Blotts. "You know I don't tolerate tardiness, Ms Potter."

"I'm sorry, Brianna was being difficult at breakfast this morning," Hermione said quickly as she snuck a glance at her watch, which told her she was definitely not late, but in fact five minutes early.

"That's no excuse," Mr Graham answered as he turned around to pick up a big stack of books. "Here, go put these on the shelves in alphabetical order. NOW!"

Hermione took in a breath of air as she placed her pocketbook and wand behind the front desk and picked up the towering stack of large books. She walked unsteadily to the humongous book shelves and tiredly began alphabetizing the leather-bound books on the shelves.

Hermione had just finished placing the last book on the shelf when she heard the light tinkle of the bell as someone opened the door. She decided to let whoever it was browse around the shop; putting heavy books on the shelves was actually physically tiring, whether anyone liked to believe it or not.

"Excuse me, miss, but could you possibly help me?"

Hermione made a face. Could customers not see when an employee of a shop was tired and wanted a break from working?! Obviously not, she thought dryly as she put on her best happy face and turned around to face the customer. Her mouth dropped open when she saw who it was.

Standing in front of Hermione was a stocky, muscular man with bright red hair and brown eyes shimmering with a hint of mischievousness. It was none other than George Weasley, who had just left the previous year, a while after Harry died, for America. (A branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, or more currently called The 3W, was opening and needed an overseer for the company. Fred was too involved with his new wife and was managing The 3W branch in Diagon Alley already. Of course, George had agreed to go immediately, and no-one had seen him since.)

Hermione couldn't help herself; she squealed. "George!" She ran into his arms and allowed herself to be wrapped up by him.

George had been there for Hermione after Harry's death. (At least, until he left for America.) Many other people had been there, too, but George and Hermione had developed a special relationship. George had told her than whenever she needed a shoulder to cry on, or whenever Brianna needed a makeshift daddy, she could always ring him. And that meant more to her than anything else.

"Did you miss me?" George teased, grinning cheekily.

"Of course I did, you imbecile!" Hermione laughed as she hugged him again. "I missed you a lot! Brianna had to fall back onto Ron to be her makeshift daddy after you left. You know how that's gonna turn out."

"Dear old Ronniekins..."

Hermione studied George for a moment. "George Weasley, you haven't gone to see your parents or family yet, have you!" she accused.

George sighed. "Truth is, Hermione, I'm not too keen on seeing Mum and Dad again. Particularly Mum. They both got rather fired up when I announced that I would be going to live in America."

"Well, how would you feel if your son said he was moving overseas?"

"I don't know. I don't have a son."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "It's a hypothetical question, idiot."

"Okay, okay, no need for violence," George said as Hermione punched him on the arm. "I wouldn't feel too great, I suppose. But they do have six other kids in Britain to torture."

"But you're the only twin that hasn't gotten all grown up and settled down," Hermione said wisely.

"Fred's never going to get all grown up."

Hermione began to say something, but Mr Graham walked out of the back room. "Potter! What are you doing, conspiring with a customer?" he demanded rather rudely as he brushed past George to stand directly in front of Hermione. "You know there's plenty of other stuff you're supposed to be doing other than standing here and conversing with some miscreant from the streets!"

"He's not a miscreant," Hermione murmured. "He's George Weasley."

Mr Graham peered out from behind his thick glasses, as if to see if Hermione was telling the truth. He studied George for a minute before declaring, "So he is! Get that prankster out of my store now!"

"I know when I'm not welcome," George said, holding up his hands. "I'm leaving, I'm leaving."

Mr Graham proceeded to push George out of the door as Hermione watched with evident interest. "Meet me at Florean Fortescue's at two tomorrow, Hermione," George called just before he was pushed out altogether.

Hermione smiled to herself as she tuned out the infuriated voice of Mr Graham. She frankly didn't care about what the old man had to say to her. George was back in town.